


As You Like It

by SnoopFroggyFrog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I'm not sure what I'm doing, M/M, Master/Slave, Middle Aged Harry Potter, Slave Tom Riddle, Slavery, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnoopFroggyFrog/pseuds/SnoopFroggyFrog
Summary: It has been over 20 years since the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry's life is not what it once was. Trying to get some closure, he visits Lord Voldemort in his prison and it does not go quite as he had imagined.So now Harry has a slave. Yippie?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VoidRealmer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidRealmer/gifts).



> With so many great Slave!Tom stories out there right now, I got inspired. I haven't finished it yet and I have not much of a clue where it's going to go. I do feel that it'll be a bit dark, and I'll try to mention all necessary content warnings in the notes before each chapter.

Harry wasn't quite sure, in retrospect, how he had ended up at this point. All he had wanted, all he had needed, really, was to question Tom Riddle about a few things his mind kept coming back to. _Why me?_ , for instance. Why not Neville. Why believe a prophecy in the first place. And, yes, even the few things about his parents that the former Voldemort might have noticed, anything to feel closer to that family he never got to have.  
Maybe, even, to see Riddle suffer for all he had done, or even to see regret in him.  
Having a leash thrust into his hands to take said Riddle home as his slave had certainly not been on his to-do-list. Yet here he was.  
He raised an eyebrow at Kingsley.  
„That's it? I just get to take him home?“  
„What do you want me to say, Harry?“, Kingsley sighed and rubbed his forehead, „There's no other place we could keep him safely, certainly not in Azkaban. You're the one that doesn't want him to be here.“  
„Did you expect me to approve?“ Harry asked.  
„Maybe. In any case, he's your responsibility now“, Kingsley said and handed Harry a piece of parchment that attested to the fact that he was now the proud owner of one ex-Dark Lord.  
Harry pocketed it and left the room, finding the corridor as he had left it – with his new slave on his knees, staring apathetically at the floor, flanked by hooded guards. Unspeakables, he assumed, but he wasn't going to try and chat them up. He had more important concerns now.  
Riddle was wearing a collar now, a rather makeshift leather one by the looks of it, and Harry attached the leash to the metal ring hanging at its center. He gave it just the slightest of tugs and saw Riddle move forward obediently.  
„Come on, pet. Time to go home.“

Apparating to his house wasn't a challenge. Harry had moved into a spacious house out in the middle of nowhere for a reason, and part of that was the fact that he had no muggle neighbours to worry about. Or wizarding ones, for that matter.  
What _was_ a challenge, though, was guiding his crawling slave over the many treeroots jutting out of the ground before the year was over. Riddle was still in a kind of trance, but he was also very out of shape, if he had ever been _in_ shape, that was, and so he struggled quite a bit to move forward.  
Eventually, Harry had had enough, simply hoisted him over his shoulder and marched quickly onto his grounds. Not signified by a garden gate or fence, not after seventeen years of sharing a house with aunt Petunia, his indicator was instead the pleasant hum of the wards welcoming him back. He strode quickly through the overgrown grass and up to the front door, which swung open on its own to let him in.  
Once inside, he gently deposited Riddle on the floor.  
„There, pet, we are home now. Walk from place to place, that'll be quicker. Follow me“, he added and walked towards the kitchen. Not that the order was necessary, since he still had the leash in his hand, but he noticed, pleased, that Riddle obeyed and walked.  
They entered the kitchen, a spacious room in a muggle style and with muggle appliances as well. Harry had even installed a TV. He pointed to the floor beside his own comfortable chair and nodded approvingly when Riddle knelt beside it. For a moment he debated removing the leash, then decided that it was too early for that. He took the rests of last night's pizza from the fridge, put a slice on a plate and set it on the ground.  
„Eat“, he said and sat down on his delightfully plushy chair, biting into his own slice. At his side, Riddle obeyed and ate without any sign of delight or even hunger. That he was not hungry was unlikely, considering how thin he was; it made him look even younger, and he looked shockingly young already.  
Harry considered that fact. There was no way the Unspeakables would tell him what they did, but he wondered at their motivations. If they were responsible for his new-old looks – and really, who else would be? – then it was interesting that they had decided to make him look like he was fresh out of Hogwarts. Why not his chronological age?  
The answer to that seemed obvious, at least to himself. This way was just more pleasant to look at. Even as thin as this, Riddle was a pretty sight. Clear skin unblemished by natural things such as freckles or pimples or discolorations. Full, slightly curling dark hair, long enough to hold on to. His eyes weren't even red anymore, but instead the beautiful colours of autumn leaves. He had a nose, thankfully, a rather pretty one, and his lips were full and well-shapen, as if made to suck cock. And maybe they were.  
Harry was no longer a naïve child. He didn't doubt now that some Unspeakables had taken advantage of their prisoner's pretty looks and absolute powerlessness. It was understandable, even. Riddle had done horrid things to so many people, there would necessarily be retribution.  
He considered that avenue. How far was he willing to go? It's not like he had a plan in place for the possibility of his former nemesis becoming his slave. He wasn't even sure where he would let him sleep, which he needed to decide soon, judging by the way Riddle lightly swayed and how utterly exhausted he looked, with deep dark circles under his eyes. The difficulty he had had with crawling over the ground outside might also have stemmed from that.  
Well, Riddle had done nothing wrong yet and Harry wasn't about to unduly mistreat him. He'd let him have a guest room and proper bed for the night and leave him to sleep as long as he needed. The rest he could figure out the next day.  
Seeing that Riddle was done eating, Harry got up and bade him to follow. Riddle hit his toes multiple times on the way up the stairs but he didn't fall. They reached one of the guest rooms and Harry guided him inside. The room was simply furnished, with a single bed, a nightstand and a wardrobe. The walls were plain white and there were no decorations of any kind. Harry had had his fill of those thanks to aunt Petunia.  
„You'll sleep in this bed tonight. Lie down“, Harry ordered and was pleased to see Riddle obey again. He tied the leash to the bedstand and secured it with a spell that would only react to himself, then he took an empty water jug from the night stand and went into the bathroom to fill it with water. He put it on the nightstand together with a glass, then he said „Sleep, I'll let you know when it's time to get up“ and left the room.  
He locked the door with a similar spell as the one for the leash. Only an idiot would leave Voldemort, ex or not, to roam free. And Harry was no longer an idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anything in this chapter needs to be explicitly warned against. Let me know if you disagree and I'll add a warning.
> 
> Feel free to also let me know if the formatting is hard to read or anything like that.
> 
> Hope it brings someone joy today!

When Harry awoke the following morning, he felt excitement well up within himself, warming him from his toes to his chest in tingling waves. He felt more alive than he had in years. It made him recall how Ginny had looked at him as if he was a stranger when he had told her he wanted a divorce. Immediately, the excitement subsided. Perhaps she had been right after all; perhaps he had changed.

He felt his dick stir and automatically moved to grab and stroke it. Screw Ginny. Not literally. But he should get her out of his head. He searched through his memories for a face, someone, anyone, to fantasize about. Ernie Macmillan? No, too pompous. Blaise Zabini? Hm. No. Their last one-night-stand was still far too vivid in his mind. He needed someone who required less work. Marietta Edgecombe? Ah, no, that only brought with it his feelings about Cho. That wouldn't work at all.

His thoughts strayed to Hogwarts and his Gryffindor dorm room. Yes... yes. Seamus.

He imagined Seamus between his legs, licking and kissing his thighs. Slowly working up to Harry's cock, licking over the tip, oh yes...

Completion came quickly. Harry idly wondered if he had lost all feeling for romance or if foreplay had never been his thing in the first place.

He took a quick shower and decided against shaving the stubble he had let grow on his face. It was a bit midlife-crisis-y, perhaps, but he was starting to like himself with it, the little flair of adventurer he felt it gave him. The few gray hairs he could see on his head he was liking less, but he didn't feel like doing anything about them either.

After a quick breakfast, he decided to check on his slave. As soon as he opened the door he saw that Riddle was awake and looking at him, a smouldering look of hatred on his face. At first he thought it was because he was the one that had defeated him, but then he smelled something and pulled back the blanket.

Harry couldn't keep in a little chuckle. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the formerly Lord Voldemort who mustn't be named, had wet the bed. That was something he could one day tell his grandchildren.

Still, he recognized that it was his own fault it had happened. He had provided water but not a way to go to the bathroom and hadn't even thought about the necessity ever since he had come home the day before. Loath as he was to let Riddle move freely, he needed a solution for that.

He released the leash and took it in his hand.

„Up you get“, he said and delighted in Riddle obeying, even though it was accompanied by a glare that could have frozen a volcano. It was, if nothing else, a sign that he was still a person, not a mindless ragdoll.

He led Riddle into the bathroom and ordered him to clean himself. The fierce blush that crept around the seemingly young man's neck was a thing of beauty and Harry took his time to admire it. As Riddle obeyed, he idly wondered why he did so. Had he registered yesterday's events at all? Or was he just so well trained by the Unspeakables?

When Riddle had cleaned himself, he looked hesitant. Harry took a moment to realize that he hadn't provided him with new clothes to change into, then decided that it wasn't an issue. Not with his slave being such a pretty sight to look at when undressed. He led Riddle into the sitting room and Harry sat down in his favourite armchair, a big thing nearly twice his size, with red upholstery and the softest cushions imaginable, and pointed to the ground in front of him. This earned him another glare, but again the order was followed.

„Do you remember what happened yesterday?“

Riddle stiffened slightly, then slowly shook his head.

„I came to visit you. I didn't like how they treated you, so I took you out of there.“

There was no reaction to those words and Harry found himself frustrated.

„Well? Have you nothing to say?“ he asked.

Riddle shook his head again. A wave of anger rose up in Harry and he yanked at the leash so hard that Riddle lost his balance, falling onto the ground.

„You will speak when I tell you to speak“, Harry said firmly.

„... yes“, Riddle whispered, sounding rather hoarse.

„Yes, _what_?“

„... yes, sir.“

Not what Harry wanted to hear, but it was a start. He pulled lightly at the leash until Riddle crawled within arm's reach of him, then patted his head almost affectionately.

„That's better, pet. But in the future, you'll say _Master_ , understood?“

Riddle trembled and kept his head down. It was a wholly wonderful sight.

„... yes... master“, he finally whispered. He still sounded hoarse. Hm, maybe Harry could find out what the Unspeakables did to him.

„Have you screamed a lot lately?“ he asked, curious. What _had_ the Ministry been doing? They hadn't needed to keep him alive, they could have executed him long ago. Some followers of his had been executed already. So what had been going on?

„... yes, master.“

„Tell me what they did to make you scream.“

Riddle trembled... and said nothing. Impatiently, Harry grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. The hateful glare was gone, replaced by a look of utter fear.

„Tell me. What they did“, he repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

Riddle opened his mouth, his lips quivering. Then he started making a sound.

He fell to the ground, clutching at his neck, heaving, choking. Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair.

„Fine, you don't have to tell me“, he said, and instantly Riddle was able to breathe again. Of course they secured their precious secrets by any means necessary. But he'd find out eventually.

Riddle slowly rose to his knees again, trembling from exertion.

Harry contemplated for a moment while appreciating how utterly helpless his enemy looked. If this was what Voldemort had felt back in the graveyard, then it was certainly very pleasant.

„Have you eaten since before last night?“ he finally asked. A starved slave would be useless, and Harry felt a bit hungry himself. He should make them both something to eat soon.

„... no, master.“

„How long have you not eaten? Before last night?“

„... not sure, master.“

Hm, while he was on the subject...

„Can you cook?“

„... yes, master.“

„Can you clean?“

„... yes, master.“

Good, then Harry wouldn't have to do that himself. Slavery was really useful. Why didn't more of the wizarding world have slaves? Oh well, the ones that cared for it and could afford it had house elves, that was kind of similar.

He got up and went into the kitchen, tugging Riddle along with him. There, he sat down again, letting the leash loosen a little.

„Make me some breakfast, pet“, he ordered, carefully observing Riddle's reactions. There was a degree of humiliation in his posture and the blush that covered his face in shame, but only a slight hesitation when he went towards the fridge and, always checking to see Harry's reaction, touched the handle and then slowly opened it. He shivered slightly at the cold as he looked for something. Then, again hesitantly, he took out two eggs and placed them on the countertop. Looking back at Harry again and again, he took out some bacon, then a tomato, then a sausage.

For a moment he looked lost, then he slowly opened one cupboard. Interestingly, he did not seem to gain any confidence anytime he checked to see how Harry reacted – he just kept glancing back, as if silently asking for permission. That made it take a long time until he found a pan and some oil and until he proceeded to actually make the food.

Finally, he was done and set a plate on the table. Harry gave him a long look, which made Riddle flinch and bring him a fork and knife. Satisfied, Harry pointed to the ground and saw his order obeyed swiftly. It was a wonderful feeling to have someone not questioning him.

He cut off a piece of sausage and held it in front of Riddle's face. Riddle jerked back slightly, apparently startled, but he didn't look as ashamed as Harry had expected when he finally ate the food directly from his master's hand. So that must have been something the Unspeakables had done. Interesting.

They proceeded to eat in silence, Harry from his plate, Riddle every now and again from Harry's hands. When he was done, he pushed the plate away.

„Not bad, pet. I've had worse“, he said and delighted in the unhappy look on his slave's face, „Now tell me, what does it feel like to cook for the boy that defeated you?“

Riddle looked up at him, confusion on his face. Huh, had he not recognized Harry after all this time and with the beard stubble and all?

„Your enemy, pet. The boy who lived. Last we met was on the battlefield. Tell me what it feels like now.“

Riddle remained looking confused, seeming to shrink in on himself when he was unable to answer the command. An unpleasant feeling crept through Harry's gut.

„Pet, do you know who Harry Potter is?“ he asked.

Riddle slowly shook his head.

Oh, fucking hell!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahahahahaaaaa...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears my Harry is going to be... rather an asshole?
> 
> Tom's POV will come at some point.

Harry hammered on Kingsley's door without pause until it opened just as he had begun to contemplate blasting it off its hinges. That he was greeted by his friend with a drawn wand and checkered pyjamas only half registered in his mind, and before he could be stopped he blurted out: „What in Merlin's name have you _done_ to him?!“

Kingsley seemed unwilling to let him in, then sighed and stepped aside.

„Let's talk in my office“, he said and Harry strode into the direction with purpose, knowing it as well as his own back pocket. As they passed the door to the kitchen, he could see a little girl version of Kingsley hiding behind her mother, both with strange bonnets over their heads and also still in pyjamas. He resolutely shoved away the feeling of guilt at having disturbed them at their breakfast. It was Kingsley's own fault.

As soon as the office door has closed behind them, Kingsley turned to Harry with an almost strained look on his face.

„What seems to be the problem?“ he asked, sounding tired.

„He doesn't know who I am“, Harry spat out.

Kingsley's eyebrows rose slightly.

„Is that so?“

„Yes. He doesn't even recognize my name. What did you do to him?“

„I did nothing to him“, Kingsley said in a clipped tone.

„I don't care who exactly did it, I just want to know _what_ and _why_.“

„I can't speak to the what exactly. What I can tell you is that one goal the Department of Mysteries had was to make him harmless to others and they reported to me that they succeeded.“

Harry huffed in annoyance.

„Good for them, but what am I supposed to do with a slave that doesn't even know who I am?“

Kingsley frowned and said slowly: „Harry, even if his memory loss is permanent, I _do_ know that he can function just fine. Besides, what makes you think that he's being honest about it? He may be harmless but that doesn't mean that he can be trusted.“

„I would _know_ if he was lying!“ Harry seethed, „And I want him to know who he is and who I am and that he's mine now! What else would be the point?“

„Not letting him be _abused_ , is I think the word you used“, Kingsley hissed.

Harry fought off a blush.

„Well, he's mine now and he's useless. Why make him harmless in _this_ way?“

„I was not involved in the specific decisions made about him, so I can't answer that“, Kingsley said, then sighed and continued: „See if it persists, maybe try to jog his memory. If there's no change in, say, a week, let me know and I'll talk to the Unspeakables about it. That's all I can offer you right now.“

Harry regarded Kingsley warily, then simply nodded and stormed out. When he passed the kitchen he heard the mini-Kingsley scream for her mother, maybe scared by his demeanor. He searched his memories for the names of Kingsley's family for only a moment before giving up. Not like it was important, anyway.

When Harry stepped back into his house, he saw Riddle where he had left him, chained to the bannister. His slave looked up at him for a moment, then turned back to stare at the wall.

This was it? Nothing left to do to defeat his enemy's spirits?

He dragged him back to the sitting room, calming as he noticed how Riddle struggled to keep up. Harry himself sat down in his armchair and frowned at his slave.

„Do you know your name?“ he asked.

„... yes, master“, Riddle answered quietly.

„Say it.“

„... my name is Tom, master.“ Harry couldn't see evidence of Riddle hating to say that name. He seemed as apathetic as before.

„And your last name?“

„... I'm not sure, master.“

„Tell me what you know about yourself“, Harry ordered. There, that should tell him a bit about where things stood.

„... that my name is Tom and... that I was born on New Year's Eve... and that I don't have parents...“

Harry waited for a moment in case he'd continue.

„Is that all you know?“

„... I think so, master.“

„You're not sure?“

„... everything seems... foggy, master“, Riddle admitted hesitantly

Hm, maybe Kingsley was right and it would clear up with time. But what was Harry supposed to do until then? His ideas of letting the former Voldemort recite his own failures and Harry's successes while scrubbing the floors by hand was useless now.

Then again, Riddle – no, Tom now, really – wasn't that useless, was he? He was pretty to look at and Harry relished the feeling of someone just having to accept him, no questions asked. And it wasn't like Tom didn't deserve everything he got: he was still the former Voldemort, all those crimes he had committed hadn't changed just because he couldn't remember them.

What difference did memories really make? Hermione's parents had still been her parents even after she had made them forget her. Harry himself had no memories of his parents, yet they were still his parents. So Tom was still guilty of Voldemort's actions. Now the question was just: how to make him pay for them?

He leaned forward slightly, the better to look at his pretty slave.

„Do you know why you are here, pet?“

„... because you brought me here, master“, Tom said quietly.

„Do you know what you are, pet?“

Tom looked unsure as he stared at the floor. When he did not answer, Harry yanked on the leash so that Tom fell to the ground again.

„I'm sorry...“, Tom muttered, „I... I don't know... master.“

„Don't you, pet?“ Harry mused, making him crawl towards the armchair until he could easily pet his head, and did so, „Do you really not know what you are?“

Tom seemed to become even paler and he bit into his bottom lip.

„... I... I'm not... not sure, master...“

„Oh, but you do. You just need to admit it“, Harry said, gently stroking through those beautiful dark curls. He could feel Tom shivering, could practically smell him wanting to get away from the touching but not daring to actually move.

Tom's lips opened and closed, quivering, trying to form words and failing again and again. Harry felt a rush of power within himself and he gingerly reached out towards Tom's nipple, and pinched it _hard_.

To his credit, Tom did not cry out, although his face contorted itself as if he did. His eyes were watering and downcast, and his cheeks reddened with shame.

„I'm... I'm...“ he attempted, struggled, tried again: „I'm... your... I... you... you own... me... master.“

Harry stroked Tom's cheek gently.

„There now, pet, that wasn't so hard, was it?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Emotions? Death threats?


End file.
